My Treasure
by Bambu
Summary: The final battle is brought to Hogwarts, and Hermione hides in the Forbidden Forest... who is hunting her? This is a fairly short, oneshot


My Treasure

By Bambu

IATQO Weekly Drabble #26, A rainbow. Bonus pairing, Blaise and Hermione.

Disclaimer: Standard phrasing applies. They aren't mine, no matter how much I might wish otherwise. I've just borrowed them for a short jaunt.

AN: Once again, my good intentions have gone slightly awry. This little piece was supposed to be 500 words… I'm just wordy and it's close to 2,500.

o0o

"_**Diffindo**!"_

I crash to my knees on the loamy, damp forest floor. Jets of searing color blast past my head only to _thunk _into the massive trunks of the nearby giants of the Forbidden Forest. I don't have time to think, to analyze the source of danger as my muscles react. Hundreds of hours of DA training take over rational thought as I tuck and roll in the dirt, and under the nearby low-lying foliage and out-of-sight. I'm only thankful that the forest is dark, and the distant screams of hatred, fear and agony cover the sounds of my squirming deeper into the underbrush, seeking cover and a hiding place. How my wand got into my hand I have no idea, I have no conscious memory of pulling it out of the sheath on my forearm, but it's there and I quickly mutter a Disillusionment charm. The odd chill of the spell ripples over my body and I repress a shudder which might give away my position.

I have to get clear to find Harry and Ron. That's my duty, my choice. To stand with Harry and Ron against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

I still as bodies crash through the plants near me, I cannot wriggle deeper into the trees lest they hear my movements, and I breathe cautiously, lightly. I cannot tell how many there are. It seems that I may not be able to fulfill my duty. My choice may have been taken from me. The acrid stench of misfired curses almost causes me to gag but I control it, cautiously bending my face into the redolent detritus littering the ground.

"Where is she, Malfoy?" The frantic voice is almost unrecognizable as Blaise Zabini's.

"She went to ground here, Zabini. **Shite!**" I can hear Draco's voice receding, the sound of him moving farther away, and then his hoarse shout, "_**Stupefy**!" _The sound of a body thudding to the ground masks the suddenly stealthy movement of Draco's comrade-in-arms, who is even now coming closer to my hiding place. My heart hammers in my throat and I can barely breathe, the adrenaline is flooding my system as quickly as my heart can pump it through my bloodstream.

"C'mon, Granger, where are you? You're my responsibility. I can't go back without you." Blaise's voice is urgent, low, raspy. I have heard that timbre in his voice before, but never under these circumstances. He sounds as if he's choking.

"Hurry up, Zabini! The fight's moving up to the castle. Find her and let's go!" The urgency in Draco's voice is unmistakable.

We'd covered so many contingencies in our strategy sessions, but this one hadn't fit the profile. Who knew the final battle would occur on a gloomy Thursday afternoon during a Care of Magical Creatures class? It had been a joint Gryffindor/Slytherin class, and the majority of Seventh Years were even now enjoined in the fight which would prove to be life or death to the current infrastructure of the Wizarding World. The outcome would be determined when Harry stood or fell against the warped malignancy of Tom Riddle.

The first sign any of us had that the battle was engaged was the sickening green flare of an _Avada Kedavra_ that blasted past the loosely gathered group of students, and into Hagrid's enormous frame. He'd died between one second and the next, his last words, "Nifflers are righ' friendly, ain' they?"

There was no time for grief, no time to think beyond getting to my assigned position. I strain my ears, listening to see if I can hear anyone other than the two Slytherin princes in the near vicinity. If I'm careful I'll get out of this predicament and find my rightful place.

The raven-haired darling of the Zabini clan speaks in a low, gravelly purr, "Come out, Granger, come out, little Hermione. There's no one here but us… no one else to see you."

He's within ten feet of me when I rise to my feet, wand in hand.

He cannot see me because of the Disillusionment spell, but both wizards turn instantly when I jostle the foliage, their wands pointing in my direction. This is the moment we've all been waiting for… for seven long years we've lived apart, segregated by the Sorting Hat into disparate bodies within the school. Enemies in our first, formative term, the ensuing years have shaped us until we have reached this moment which may be among my last… and then I whisper, '_Finite Incantatem,' _and the cloaking charm drops from me like Harry's invisibility cloak to puddle at my feet before dissipating.

"I'm here."

"Thank Merlin!" Both wizards breathe a sigh of relief, and, within two beats of my heart, Blaise crosses the distance separating us and engulfs me in his arms. I fill my lungs with his scent: aromatic, and laced with the pungent overtones of fear. It doesn't matter that he's sweaty and I'm leaf-covered. His presence grounds me for the moment I need to gather my wits and my strength for the coming conflagration. In the far distance, we can hear the screams and cries of mortality, and we all know that many of our friends and enemies will lie dead before this day is done. We've been preparing for it for the past seven years, some of our number have been preparing for it for the past twenty. It is the day of reckoning.

At my reveal, Draco spins to cover us, knowing that our danger hasn't passed. Instead it has become exponentially greater. A Gryffindor and two Slytherins. A team. Friends, and more.

The blond heir of the Malfoys snarls, "There's no time for a snog, Zabini. We have to get her to Potty!"

For all his inherent snottiness, Draco Malfoy has been Blaise's best friend since they learned to ride broomsticks. When Blaise and I fell in love during our sixth year, Draco was initially incandescent with fury and perceived betrayal. He threw tantrums of gigantic proportions and ostracized his oldest friend. Then, when it was obvious that Blaise would not be swayed and that I was good for him… among other things… Draco finally embraced Blaise's decision. It took the better part of our sixth year, but now, no one could have a better or more staunchly loyal friend. As this thought crosses my mind, I know that it's time for me to prove the same staunch loyalty to my own long-time friends, and I quickly press my lips to Blaise's. Our kiss is heated and longing and far too quick for any real comfort. That will come later, if at all.

Taking a deep breath, I break out of Blaise's arms, caressing his face briefly. My tall Slytherin leans into my dirty palm, his whispered "Cara," settles into my heart, and I know that I can and will do what is necessary to rid our world of the foul toxin that is poisoning it. We must. I must, if I want a future with this man.

"Let's do it."

Draco steps to our side and I perform the Disillusionment spell on all three of us. It's our best chance to make it to the front lines. It may not be Geneva Convention, as my Muggle Dad would have said, but in a war against Dark Wizards, I am perfectly willing to use any advantage I can find. My hint of ruthlessness is what initially paired me up with Draco and Blaise when they pledged their support for Dumbledore and the DA. That, the fact that no one else in the DA would work with them, and my relationship with Blaise. Like seeks like.

A loud shriek sounds behind us, and I spin to see Pansy Parkinson aiming her wand at Draco's location. She'd never understood his defection from her side this year as she pledged her soul to her family's cause. It seems she's just had an epiphany. Her face contorted with rage and hatred, the pug-faced witch screams, "_**Avada…**"_

Before the next word can come from her mouth, I shout, "**_Silencio!_**" to halt her curse, immediately followed by "**_Petrificus totalis_**!" The pureblooded witch topples face first into the earth.

Suddenly, from beyond the break in the forest which is scant meters from our location, a sonic blast erupts, almost knocking us to our knees, and a fireball the size of Hagrid's hut mushrooms into a cloud of roiling blackened steam. This is it. Oh. My. Gods. This is it. Harry, I think frantically, scrambling through the break in the forest, desperate to reach my friends. We cannot see what has happened because it is on the other side of the hill. I can hear Blaise and Draco keeping pace with me.

None of the three of us speak as we run up the hill toward the dispersing black cloud. My heart is racing and I feel sweat gather under my arms and roll down my back. Fear is lodged in my throat. Other than the two wizards flanking me, there are only two others that I need to find. Harry and Ron. Are they… Are they… I cannot even form the question in my mind. It's too terrifying to contemplate. But as I come upon the first bodies strewn on the lush verdancy of Hogwarts' grounds, I feel bile rise to take the place of my fear. I haven't encountered dead and wounded bodies since the Department of Mysteries skirmish at the end of Fifth Year. I'd forgotten how jolting it is. And as I look into the lifeless eyes of Lavender Brown, I am reminded of how very real war is… and how very terrible.

My left hand is unexpectedly wrapped by Blaise's large fingers – he's always been able to find me under the Disillusionment charm -- and he squeezes briefly, even as we resume our quest to reach the top of the rise. All three of us suddenly slow, the harsh panting of our ragged breathing the nearest thing I can hear, and we crest the slope leading to the castle. We must know how the battle has gone so we can choose our safest course to Harry, and before we blindly leap into the fray. Cunning is something my companions have taught me, and something, in turn, I have attempted to teach Ron and Harry. Only the next few minutes will tell if I have been able to do so.

Cresting the top of the hill, the vast lawn in front of the imposing stone edifice of Hogwarts is littered with bodies. There are small groups of Aurors, faculty and students combing the grounds. There isn't a Death Eater standing and, from our vantage point, there are only two black-cloaked figures moving. Both of them nearest to the blast point. There is a large radius of scorched earth in front of the steps leading to the entrance to the school. And standing together, just outside the blast zone, are three figures: Harry Potter, Ron and Ginny Weasley. A sob catches in my throat, even as I hear Draco's hoarse voice choke out, "Weaselette…"

On the ground in the center of the burnt, black earth lie two corpses: a skeletally thin, snakelike wizard who no longer resembles a human, and an aged, long-bearded, flamboyantly robed Headmaster. Once again, I ignore my grief and the flurry of questions about the kill-or-be-killed prophecy that flit through my mind. It seems there will be enough time for tears and questions later. Now, I have to reach Harry and Ron.

As Blaise, Draco and I cross the pitted and furrowed grounds, evidence of misfired hexes and curses plowing into the earth, we skirt the wounded and dead lying at our feet in a scattered mass of limbs, blood and effluvia. The stench is nauseating. There are Death Eaters and the members of the Order of the Phoenix. I recognize Antonin Dolohov and Charlie Weasley, Theodore Nott and Ernie Macmillan. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff. All the houses are represented. They fought and died on both sides of the Dark divide. The death toll is staggering. As we run, I look at the clock tower. It has only been fifteen minutes since we were first alerted to the attack.

As we draw closer to our goal, I can see that Ginny is being held up by Ron, one of her arms hangs loosely at her side.

Draco snarls at me. "End it, Granger. She can't see me."

I wave my wand and do as he asks. This is the other reason that Draco Malfoy altered his path. He sprints to Ginny's side as the sun begins to break through the clouds, shining off the platinum spill of his hair. I smile a little, knowing that he will be rewarded for his choices.

Blaise has lengthened his stride and I break into a jog to keep up, my need to reach Harry and Ron thrumming in my limbs. I can't believe the end has come so fast and so completely.

My steps falter as I pass the lifeless body of Professor Snape. He'd been so publicly cruel to me these seven years, and I'd finally begun to recognize his defense mechanisms. He was fiercely protective of his Slytherins, even as he'd quietly supported Draco's and Blaise's decisions. He and I had even begun to be friends in an oddly stilted fashion. I admired his struggle to subdue his inner-demons in his search for redemption. In this moment of triumph, his death must have been bittersweet. I only hope he fell after Voldemort, so that he knew that he'd been successful. I felt the increasingly insistent sting of tears in my eyes.

From off to the side, coming from somewhere near the ground a high-pitched scream interrupts my thoughts, and I hear a curse flung in my direction. The slowing of my pace saves my life. I will later thank the gods for Severus Snape. The vicious curse misses my jugular by millimeters, and I feel searing pain lodge into my collarbone. The voice is unfamiliar, but I recognize the hate in the tone. I crumple to the ground, and the last thing I hear is Blaise shouting, "Daphne… **No**," and then my name. Blaise's voice is filled with anguish.

Darkness is my friend. I feel nothing, I hear nothing, I smell nothing, I see nothing.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Sound is overly loud. My nostrils flare as an astringent aroma assails them. My mouth tastes foul, as if I've not brushed my teeth in about a week. Leave it to the daughter of dentists to think about her teeth as she's returning to conscious. I blink my eyes rapidly, attempting to take in my surroundings. The overly familiar, high ceiling of Hogwarts' infirmary greets my sight. I've been here too many times in my life not to instantly recognize it. When I was petrified my second year, it was the only thing I saw for weeks. I've never told anyone that I could see during that time. I've done my best to forget it. No one had ever understood why Colin Creevey and I became friendly after that experience. He and I have never discussed it, it's just something that we share.

But my thoughts return to the present, and touch is the last of my senses to return. One of my hands is resting on the starched hospital bed-linen. The other is resting upon a tumble of silken curls. I turn my head, stiffly, every muscle screaming with the movement – what did that bitch Greengrass hit me with – and look at Blaise's exhausted face. There are deep circles under his eyes, and I see the remnants of tear-tracks on his cheeks. My heart clenches painfully as I see the evidence of his worry and his fear. Gods, I love him.

"You need cozening, love." I say. It comes out as a hoarse croak, and Blaise's head whips up. His sapphire colored eyes fly open to meet mine.

"Hermione..." His voice cracks. He buries his face into my neck, and I can feel the freshet of moisture on my skin. My own eyes aren't dry, and tears trail down my face.

He raises his head, and just before he brushes my lips with his, he says, "Don't ever leave me."

I murmur, "Never," against his chapped lips. As our tongues meet and twine I don't care that I haven't brushed my teeth or that he tastes of stale coffee. Above my head, flickering in an arch against the white-tiled ceiling is the prismatic effect of dawn, sun and glass. A variegated rainbow casts its arc, ending at my bed, to light and fade on the raven-dark curls of my love. He is the pot at the end of the rainbow. My treasure.

finite incantatem


End file.
